We left St Germain under a leaden sky. It was early on a Sunday and not a soul was about. However, it wasn’t long before holes appeared in the grey canopy, and we were soon heading south in sunshine on what would prove to be the warmest day of the walk.
The path’s early kilometres generally ran parallel to the D984, the road running south from St-Germain-de-Calberte to the next significant village – St-Étienne-Vallée-Française. But we were above the road and despite its proximity, we were barely aware of it. The views to the east over the river valley were consistently admirable. At one point the path had been overgrown by broom and we had to plough our way through a sea of yellow blooms. We dipped down to the road to reach a bridge crossing Le Gardon St. Martin and again as we entered St-Étienne-Vallée-Française. As we emerged from the village, there was a café appropriately named “Un dimanche à la Campagne” – perfect for a mid-morning break in the company of Jane & Roger and Renée & Jean-Marie (from Pau). The café was cheek by jowl with a general store where we really should have stopped to augment our supply of water. Knocking on seventy, and still learning from our mistakes!
It wasn’t long before we were crossing Le Gardon de Sté. Croix. Le Gardon is a river which runs for over 100 kilometres south-east to join the Rhône east of Nîmes. It is most famous as the river over which the Roman aqueducts cross at Pont du Gard. But most confusingly, many of its tributaries are called “Le Gardon”! We were on the bridge of Le Gardon de Sté. Croix; not far downstream it merges with “Le Gardon de St Martin” where it becomes “Le Gardon de Mialet”! A bizarre and confusing nomenclature!
And having crossed this latest bridge, we took a right off the road, and started to climb towards Le-Col-de-St-Pierre. Pretty steep, pretty long, but nothing out of the ordinary compared with previous days. But the sun was filtering through the trees; the air was hot and still. Despite the woodland beauty, we were aware that, with no watering hole between here and St. Jean, we would have to be measly with our liquid rations. Having reached the Col de St Pierre, there were scattered tables and benches on a wooded hillside . But all were occupied. However we found a comfortable tree trunk in the horizontal which served us well for our picnic. A col being a depression or dip in a mountain ridge, it is often used as a point at which a track or road traverses a ridge. And that was the case here – a road – the D9 to our left (the north) and the D260 to our right (the south). One Road but two designations – for we were sitting askance the border of two départements. We were about to leave Lozère for Gard.
And this was the start of a difficult afternoon. According to my 1 in 25,000 map of the area, published in 2019, the GR 70 takes a path south from the Col descending to a river (yes! another Gardon – Le Gardon de St. Jean) and then following it downstream to St-Jean-du-Gard – our place of rest for the night and indeed the end of our 11-day sojourn. A gentle end to a tough walk. But…and it’s a big but….the route was revised in 2021 due to flood damage and erosion.
We obeyed the way markers which took us east along the St Pierre ridge which veered south-east. This ridge was very narrow and hence commanded great views on both sides – over the valleys of the two main branches of Le Gardon – de Mialet to the left and de St. Jean to the right. But our eyes were fixed upon our boots! The terrain was rocky and uneven and we had to slalom through a wood of holly oaks. Very pretty but very hazardous! The path took us down through woodland to the left (north-east) for a few hundred metres before returning to its south-easterly trajectory. We started to climb again, which didn’t sit well with the heat, our tired irritability and our thirst. We came to a small holding in the middle of nowhere – La Teule, and further on we skirted the hamlet of Arbouse.
Descending from Arbouse, we came to a junction where, instead of the trusty red and white waymarkers, we had an orange signpost pointing right and stating, “GR 70 St Jean du Gard 3.5k”. This seemed a bit much! We thought we were on the outskirts of the village/town. We re-read the written instructions prepared for us by The Enlightened Traveller. They admitted that they hadn’t walked the amended post-2021 route but even so, they provided an English transcript of the official French Grande Randonnée instructions. This states quite clearly that at this juncture, “Go ahead along the tarmac road for 180 metres”. Having returned to the junction, sure enough there was a lane continuing south (but no red & white markers; no orange signpost) with houses on its left side and woodland to the right. As the lane veered left, there was a marked footpath into the wood – a pretty kilometre or so which took us to St-Jean-du-Gard and the main road which skirts it to the north – the D907.
One final irritation – the pedestrian path into town was closed. Having easily crossed barriers as we entered La Bastide Puylaurent on day 4, we weren’t too perturbed. We walked to within 10 metres of the main street – but the barriers had been carefully constructed to withstand cunning British ramblers. For some inexplicable reason we had forgotten to pack wire cutters! So back we trudged to the the D907 to find an alternative portal of entry. Quite fortuitous really, as by a car park, on a grassy knoll, we found a stone memorial to RLS and Modestine, presumably a start/finish landmark. Hurrah!
St-Jean-du-Gard isn’t a village but a town – it had traffic lights and banks with ATMs. But our raging thirst couldn’t be assuaged; we couldn’t find a hostelry that was open. But we found our Hotel de Bellugues – a converted silk mill. And in its reception there was a glass-fronted fridge with bottled water! The establishment was run by Laurence, a dynamic, diminutive Parisian – the epitome of cordiality.
That evening, we celebrated the end of our walk by going into town, having reserved a table at La Treille, a crêperie. We enjoyed the luxury of choosing from a menu, something we hadn’t done since Le Puy-en-Velay the night before the walk began. It was a great meal in an unfussy eatery. The waiter was full of smirks and condescension. But it all added to the entertainment – he reminded me of Tony Hancock.
